


Hy Vong

by valis2



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/pseuds/valis2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the darkness of war, Nick yearns for Cody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hy Vong

**Author's Note:**

> Hy Vong is Vietnamese for "hope."
> 
> Warning: References to violence.

It's October, not that anyone can tell by the weather, and Nick Ryder takes one last glance at the Huey before he walks away toward camp.

Two months, two months and he's so mixed up he could scream, or cry, or laugh, and each reaction is equally understandable. 'Nam is like that. Sullen and unforgiving, giving you both a sunrise of mythic proportions and a leech-infested river crossing.

He knows he should just bunk down, sleep it off, forget the sound of mortar fire and the last gurgling breath of the kid in the back of his chopper, but he can't. It's there, harsh and hot in the back of his head, aching like a broken tooth. Go and sleep, that's what he should do. Let it carry him away.

Only he knows, with the surety of experience, that this won't work. Sleep is an uncertain commodity here, a precious resource that does not conform to any patterns from his life before.

There's only one thing in his mind, only one place his feet will take him. He's drawn like the moth, the stupid fucking moth, drawn to the bright gold hair and the smile and the easy camaraderie of Cody Allen. The gold is like a flame, pulling him in, his tired wings bearing him to Cody's side.

Cody's in the canteen, his back to the door, trading stories with Steely, and Nick slumps down next to him. He can feel Steely's expression, the eyebrows raising. He knows he smells like helicopter fuel. Mud. He probably smells like death, too, like the rest of camp, the scent laid over every living thing, permeating flesh and clothing. But he can't help but seek Cody out. This is the only place that doesn't hurt like a sharp stone to the heart. It's the only place in this litany of horrors that feels like home.

Cody turns, looking surprised. Gives him an appraising look. Reads him like a book, the way no one's ever been able to before, and Nick feels the shaking ease, takes his first unguarded breath in sixteen hours.

There are words, only Nick can't quite follow them. It doesn't matter. What's really being said is all in Cody's eyes, and Nick nods, tells him that it was a tough day. A day without mercy and goodness and all those things he never imagined living without.

Cody says something else, and Steely laughs and lights a new cigarette, but what's really happening is that Cody has inched closer to him, knee touching his own. Vital heat, strength of bone and sinew. Real.

Nick takes a slow breath. He never imagined a touch could do all this, make him feel again after all the feeling had been burned out of him with a blowtorch. Cody is close now, the line of his jaw so beautiful that he thinks he will never see anything finer. Steely is talking but there's no meaning to any of it, and Cody's hand is on his arm, warm.

Now they're walking, or maybe he's floating, but then his knees are wet and he's in the mud. Cody pulls him to his feet again and there is more floating and then they're in the barracks. Nick turns to him, presses his body against Cody, wanting to hear the breath in his lungs, wanting to draw him into his mouth. For a moment he thinks he could kiss him, end the torment. Know some measure of calm.

Cody stares at him but doesn't pull away. His eyes are still, like wells, and Nick drinks deeply, wishing for more. The damp sticky heat is overwhelming. He can feel Cody's heart hammering in his chest. His own heart beats against his ribs like a sparrow, sharp-feathered wings frantic, and he swallows, tasting regret like acid in the back of his throat.

Cody moves, murmuring something, and then his hands are stripping off his clothes. He pushes Nick down into the bunk. Nick closes his eyes, feels the tension flow out of him and vanish into the hazy afternoon. He breathes out and lets the day's horror seep out of his pores. Cody murmurs something else, and then he feels a touch to his cheek, so gentle and light he thinks he's imagined it, but no, it is the press of fingers against flesh, and now the words are there, guarding him, guiding him into sleep.

Words are meaningless. The touch, though, there is something underneath, something tentative, but so bright and glorious that Nick thinks he must already be dreaming but he is not.

Hope. There is hope here, and that is enough to see him through another night. Another day. This whole fucking war.


End file.
